Our family hit a milestone two weeks ago. Or, better said, our son did. Nick graduated from Wake Forest University. Magna cum laude. With a degree in Psychology and two minors. My own son did better at my alma mater than I did. And I’m thrilled for him.
Many of you readers have followed Nick’s journey, which has been a rather remarkable one, to say the least. And so it was with enormous gratitude and yes, pride, that we watched him march across the stage and accept his diploma. Our throats caught emotion and our hearts and minds filled with unspeakable joy.
Milestones. It seems like we’ll all be facing them in these next few weeks. Commencements. Weddings. First jobs. Prom. Our daughter will hit a milestone in two weeks when she’ll perform the difficult Fritz Kreisler Praeludium and Allegro at her spring recital. Her nearly-80-year-old grandmother will make the trek to Connecticut to experience it; as a younger woman, she taught more than 200 violin students a week, and considers watching her own grandchild play this signature piece of violin repertoire part of her reward for all of those years of diligence.
It is, of course, the successful passing of mini-milestones that allow us to enjoy the major ones. I sat through Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star ten thousand times in preparation for the glory of the Kreisler piece. And yet I still get a lump in my throat when I hear a three-year-old play it. It brings a floodgate of memories of the hours spent in our living room, holding the bow on my kids’ 1/16th size violin or singing the song or turning on the tape so they could listen to it as they fell into dreamland.
One must make sweet and gentle leaps before she can make more strenuous ones. And so it goes. On and on and on.
During the course of my more than twenty-two years of motherhood, there were many days when I found my mini-milestone to be as sweet and gentle as a shower taken without interruption. Or a morning met with dry sheets on all four of our kids’ beds. Sweet and gentle was the mini-milestone of ninja turtle underpants instead of pull-ups; Tide-with-a-bow-on-top and our kid’s initiation into personal laundry instead of mom-the-family-laundress doing it all. Sweet and gentle milestones included clean kids’ bedrooms without nudging. Christmas recitals and soccer tournaments. Our daughter singing—live and onstage—to the Jonas Brothers.
I have come to realize that one doesn’t get to experience the joy of a major milestone until one witnesses the victories of multiple sweet and gentle mini-milestones along the way. Book contracts don’t come along until one has written dozens of articles and stories gratis. Singing to the Jonas Brothers doesn’t happen until one has memorized all of their songs, could lip sync them in each one of their movies, and traveled great distances to more than one of their concerts. Homes don’t get renovated until one has read hundreds of decorating magazines and made dozens of expensive decorating mistakes. One cannot perform the Kreisler concerto until she has mastered the Bach A Minor Concerto first. And college graduations just can’t happen until one has pulled all-nighters for finals and research papers for four years running.
As you go through the days of June, recognizing achievements in your own life and in those of whom you most love, allow yourself the indulgent luxury of re-living a few of the more painful and monotonous memories of the path to victory. Re-live, if briefly, some of the journey. When your daughter accepts the math award, remember all of those nights when you helped her with simple addition. At the tennis banquet, think of all of those days when you were the human ball machine, gently tossing her balls so that she could one day play on the varsity team. The days of June are sweet: they are abundantly filled with milestones of all shapes and sizes. May they bring to you, like they are bringing to us, unspeakable joy!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
What Mom Really Wants for Mother’s Day: A Little Something
There were countless years when all I really wanted was a nap. Then some when the thought of a restaurant dinner out—no cooking, serving or cleaning up—was our family’s little Mother’s Day ritual. But our favorite “Mother’s Day restaurant” closed when the economy headed south, and, frankly, the idea of spending all that money to feed our large brood just doesn’t turn me on this year. No. Not this year.
In the Recessionista spirit of “less is more” and Simplify-Simplify-Simplify, all I really want this year is a little something. My hunch is: this is what’s driving you too.
Mom wants:
Something a little fun: something slightly impractical that won’t break the family’s bank that she would most likely never buy were it not for Mother’s Day. I splurged with something a little crazy when I took the money my mother always sends me for Mother’s Day and—a few weeks early when I was on a random shopping trip out-of-town—bought a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer’s in turquoise. Not your average fifty-something’s choice for a new pair of shades. I admit: they’re a little zany. But hey: girls just wanna have fun.
Something a little sweet: chocolate or a cupcake or a big bowl of ice cream drizzled with caramel sauce. Mother’s Day screams: eat something caloric with a high fat content. My husband knows that I can do without an entire box of chocolates…but he better bring me a super dark bar or two to nosh on throughout this coming week.
Something a little tender: we don’t need much, do we? Just enough to let us know that all of our daily sacrifices are noticed…at least one day a year. Tender to me means someone in my family proactively dealing with the dirty dishes in the sink and the clean ones in the dishwasher. The crumbs on the floor and the old food in the fridge. Before I even mention it. Tender to me means having one of my teenagers wash and vacuum my car as a complete surprise. Tender to me means my husband brewing the morning coffee and delivering it to me in bed.
Something a little time-indulgent: An extra-long peek at the newspaper. That proverbial Sunday afternoon nap that almost always seems so out of reach. A leisurely phone call to a friend. Getting horizontal on the sofa with a new book. Painting the forgotten canvas. Dabbling. A pedicure.
Something a little orderly: especially meaningful to those of us who feel like we are carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders is an orderly environment. Whether it means that the kids pick up their loosely-strewn toys or that the teenagers pick up the laundry all over their bedroom floors; whether hubby might kindly re-organize the stacks of magazines on the family room coffee table or that he’ll neatly stack the mail in the drawer. Orderliness breeds creativity. And oh! How we could all use a larger dose of that.
Mother’s Day has a different connotation for every single mom. Some ignore the day altogether. Some require unusually high levels of doting and devotion. I just want a little something.
Whatever you need, whatever inspires you to motherhood with excellence: I am sending along my very best wishes for a most wonderful day. And hopefully, you will have some control over how, exactly, you spend it.
In the Recessionista spirit of “less is more” and Simplify-Simplify-Simplify, all I really want this year is a little something. My hunch is: this is what’s driving you too.
Mom wants:
Something a little fun: something slightly impractical that won’t break the family’s bank that she would most likely never buy were it not for Mother’s Day. I splurged with something a little crazy when I took the money my mother always sends me for Mother’s Day and—a few weeks early when I was on a random shopping trip out-of-town—bought a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer’s in turquoise. Not your average fifty-something’s choice for a new pair of shades. I admit: they’re a little zany. But hey: girls just wanna have fun.
Something a little sweet: chocolate or a cupcake or a big bowl of ice cream drizzled with caramel sauce. Mother’s Day screams: eat something caloric with a high fat content. My husband knows that I can do without an entire box of chocolates…but he better bring me a super dark bar or two to nosh on throughout this coming week.
Something a little tender: we don’t need much, do we? Just enough to let us know that all of our daily sacrifices are noticed…at least one day a year. Tender to me means someone in my family proactively dealing with the dirty dishes in the sink and the clean ones in the dishwasher. The crumbs on the floor and the old food in the fridge. Before I even mention it. Tender to me means having one of my teenagers wash and vacuum my car as a complete surprise. Tender to me means my husband brewing the morning coffee and delivering it to me in bed.
Something a little time-indulgent: An extra-long peek at the newspaper. That proverbial Sunday afternoon nap that almost always seems so out of reach. A leisurely phone call to a friend. Getting horizontal on the sofa with a new book. Painting the forgotten canvas. Dabbling. A pedicure.
Something a little orderly: especially meaningful to those of us who feel like we are carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders is an orderly environment. Whether it means that the kids pick up their loosely-strewn toys or that the teenagers pick up the laundry all over their bedroom floors; whether hubby might kindly re-organize the stacks of magazines on the family room coffee table or that he’ll neatly stack the mail in the drawer. Orderliness breeds creativity. And oh! How we could all use a larger dose of that.
Mother’s Day has a different connotation for every single mom. Some ignore the day altogether. Some require unusually high levels of doting and devotion. I just want a little something.
Whatever you need, whatever inspires you to motherhood with excellence: I am sending along my very best wishes for a most wonderful day. And hopefully, you will have some control over how, exactly, you spend it.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Weekend Rhythms
It’s not that I don’t love my job; it’s that I love my family and my home. Friday night comes and, wow! I can hardly wait to pull into my driveway. The weekend has its own distinct rhythms, and I have come to honor and respect them. Yes, indeed, to cherish them.
Friday usually means leaving work after the market closes. I rarely stay past five and hope to leave a little past four. As it’s typically the slowest day of the week, I work accordingly, catching up on all of the things in my inbox and other administrative tasks left behind in the swoosh of client calls and market volatility. The drive home holds less tension than do the other four work days. Bloomberg radio, my constant driving companion, is more tolerable. On Fridays, I feel slightly less responsible for carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. That’s what others are hired to do, what politicians are expected to do. I literally feel my body settling deep down into my leather car seat as I wind my way through the Connecticut countryside. There is a discernible calmness of mind and of spirit. For I know that I will be able to focus my energies, for two days anyway, on everything else that I have going on in my life.
That night almost always means food from our favorite local Asian restaurant. And while we try to mix up the selections from week the week, we find that it’s consistency in flavors nourishes not only our bellies, but our spirits as well. Few things calm me down for the weekend ahead more than does a piping hot bowl of curried soup. I usually desire an almost immediately horizontal position shortly thereafter. It is one of the few times during the week that I turn into a potato before darkness sets into the night. A movie on cable might follow. Or some TV time with my hubby or kids. But generally, Friday evening to me and my family means tummies full of Asian food, our dog at one of our feet, and a blanket covering a body that has gone completely limp.
Saturday morning is another story entirely. For me, it means an early rise and a good game of tennis with the gals. Court time is 8 AM sharp, and the combination of chasing down balls, a decent sweat and a lot of laughter is my favorite start to the day.
And then one of my favorite rituals takes place: my Saturday morning trip to the local grocer. My husband oftentimes offers to go instead, but I remind him that to deny me the trip is to strip me of one of the most emotionally enjoyable experiences of my week. The grocery store is legendary. Stew Leonard’s claims to be the largest dairy store in the world. But to me, it means the freshest fruits and vegetables that I can find, plenty of naked chicken and beef and pork, and one of the best selections of seafood in the area. The store is laid out in a maze, and once entered, it is very difficult to turn around and start all over again, as you’ll be going against traffic if you do. A walk down the first aisle finds me squeezing Florida oranges, eyeing the freshly baked muffins, pinching French baguettes and enjoying a sample size of just-brewed coffee.
It’s on to the deli counter, where “naked” meats, all without preservatives or fillers or antibiotics or hormones are served up with a smile. But my favorite aisles are those bearing freshly-picked herbs and vegetables. Ahhh! There’s nothing like a whiff of fresh cilantro to get one’s creative culinary juices flowing! An hour later, groceries are placed into the cloth bags that I carry in with me; an effortless commitment to a greener grocery trip is one of its rewards.
The lunch treat is chock full with my discoveries. Fresh mozzarella and vine-ripened tomatoes. Avocados. Berries. Could it get any better than that?
Saturday afternoon usually affords me either the luxury of working on one of my miscellaneous projects: a new book or a proposal or assembling a few sunshine baskets. Or catching up on my mail. I love getting lost in the work that lies on my home office desk. Ignored by me all week for utter lack of time or energy, it demands my attention by Saturday afternoon, and I am happy to oblige. The work carries me into the night, at which point my brain is no longer able to fully function. Thinking through a multitude of potentialities, the speed and variety which sometimes feels like raindrops falling into a waterfall, I have to lay down in an effort to calm my mind down. A horrible napper, I like to try midday nonetheless. The Saturday afternoon nap is a weekend ritual that is, to me, irresistible in concept anyway.
The evening gives me the time to cook up some of that wonderful food that I bought only hours earlier. Working in my French kitchen, I remain inspired by the great French chefs who have come before me. For I’m just a country cook. A home cook. Trying to please just my family and me. And sometimes friends, too, when we’re fortunate enough to have them over to share in the bounty.
It’s very French to slow down and enjoy the process of preparing food for your loved ones. If you stopped and asked some of the world’s best cooks what their secrets were, I suspect that the mere slowing down to work through the process would be one of them. Of taking the time to slice the vegetables. Or rolling out the dough. Cutting off the stems and peeling the fruit. Setting the table with beautiful china and linens and silver and candles.
And on Sunday, our laziest of all days, when other than attending worship services and leisurely catching up on our favorite magazines, books or papers, we hang out as a family and delight in the art of doing nothing. A nibble here and perhaps another meal or two to prepare, the weekend ends on a note of contentment and peace. Yes, the kids command our attention. Yes, the dirty laundry screams at me from its basket. And the crumbs on the floor need sweeping. The dog walking. But the rhythms of the weekend give us pause from the pressures of life. Our bodies, designed to take note and give in, relish the gaps in time that only the weekend brings.
I hope that as you contemplate re-calibration and the changes that it may inevitably bring to your work week, your family and your personal bottom line, that you are able to see them, as I have. And to respect and honor them. In order to increase your level of peace. Family harmony. Of infusing beauty into your home. Nourishing food into bodies. Oh! The weekend. Blissful intervention into the state of the world in which we find ourselves.
Peace,
Carolina
Friday usually means leaving work after the market closes. I rarely stay past five and hope to leave a little past four. As it’s typically the slowest day of the week, I work accordingly, catching up on all of the things in my inbox and other administrative tasks left behind in the swoosh of client calls and market volatility. The drive home holds less tension than do the other four work days. Bloomberg radio, my constant driving companion, is more tolerable. On Fridays, I feel slightly less responsible for carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. That’s what others are hired to do, what politicians are expected to do. I literally feel my body settling deep down into my leather car seat as I wind my way through the Connecticut countryside. There is a discernible calmness of mind and of spirit. For I know that I will be able to focus my energies, for two days anyway, on everything else that I have going on in my life.
That night almost always means food from our favorite local Asian restaurant. And while we try to mix up the selections from week the week, we find that it’s consistency in flavors nourishes not only our bellies, but our spirits as well. Few things calm me down for the weekend ahead more than does a piping hot bowl of curried soup. I usually desire an almost immediately horizontal position shortly thereafter. It is one of the few times during the week that I turn into a potato before darkness sets into the night. A movie on cable might follow. Or some TV time with my hubby or kids. But generally, Friday evening to me and my family means tummies full of Asian food, our dog at one of our feet, and a blanket covering a body that has gone completely limp.
Saturday morning is another story entirely. For me, it means an early rise and a good game of tennis with the gals. Court time is 8 AM sharp, and the combination of chasing down balls, a decent sweat and a lot of laughter is my favorite start to the day.
And then one of my favorite rituals takes place: my Saturday morning trip to the local grocer. My husband oftentimes offers to go instead, but I remind him that to deny me the trip is to strip me of one of the most emotionally enjoyable experiences of my week. The grocery store is legendary. Stew Leonard’s claims to be the largest dairy store in the world. But to me, it means the freshest fruits and vegetables that I can find, plenty of naked chicken and beef and pork, and one of the best selections of seafood in the area. The store is laid out in a maze, and once entered, it is very difficult to turn around and start all over again, as you’ll be going against traffic if you do. A walk down the first aisle finds me squeezing Florida oranges, eyeing the freshly baked muffins, pinching French baguettes and enjoying a sample size of just-brewed coffee.
It’s on to the deli counter, where “naked” meats, all without preservatives or fillers or antibiotics or hormones are served up with a smile. But my favorite aisles are those bearing freshly-picked herbs and vegetables. Ahhh! There’s nothing like a whiff of fresh cilantro to get one’s creative culinary juices flowing! An hour later, groceries are placed into the cloth bags that I carry in with me; an effortless commitment to a greener grocery trip is one of its rewards.
The lunch treat is chock full with my discoveries. Fresh mozzarella and vine-ripened tomatoes. Avocados. Berries. Could it get any better than that?
Saturday afternoon usually affords me either the luxury of working on one of my miscellaneous projects: a new book or a proposal or assembling a few sunshine baskets. Or catching up on my mail. I love getting lost in the work that lies on my home office desk. Ignored by me all week for utter lack of time or energy, it demands my attention by Saturday afternoon, and I am happy to oblige. The work carries me into the night, at which point my brain is no longer able to fully function. Thinking through a multitude of potentialities, the speed and variety which sometimes feels like raindrops falling into a waterfall, I have to lay down in an effort to calm my mind down. A horrible napper, I like to try midday nonetheless. The Saturday afternoon nap is a weekend ritual that is, to me, irresistible in concept anyway.
The evening gives me the time to cook up some of that wonderful food that I bought only hours earlier. Working in my French kitchen, I remain inspired by the great French chefs who have come before me. For I’m just a country cook. A home cook. Trying to please just my family and me. And sometimes friends, too, when we’re fortunate enough to have them over to share in the bounty.
It’s very French to slow down and enjoy the process of preparing food for your loved ones. If you stopped and asked some of the world’s best cooks what their secrets were, I suspect that the mere slowing down to work through the process would be one of them. Of taking the time to slice the vegetables. Or rolling out the dough. Cutting off the stems and peeling the fruit. Setting the table with beautiful china and linens and silver and candles.
And on Sunday, our laziest of all days, when other than attending worship services and leisurely catching up on our favorite magazines, books or papers, we hang out as a family and delight in the art of doing nothing. A nibble here and perhaps another meal or two to prepare, the weekend ends on a note of contentment and peace. Yes, the kids command our attention. Yes, the dirty laundry screams at me from its basket. And the crumbs on the floor need sweeping. The dog walking. But the rhythms of the weekend give us pause from the pressures of life. Our bodies, designed to take note and give in, relish the gaps in time that only the weekend brings.
I hope that as you contemplate re-calibration and the changes that it may inevitably bring to your work week, your family and your personal bottom line, that you are able to see them, as I have. And to respect and honor them. In order to increase your level of peace. Family harmony. Of infusing beauty into your home. Nourishing food into bodies. Oh! The weekend. Blissful intervention into the state of the world in which we find ourselves.
Peace,
Carolina
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Recalibrating
I’m noticing it everywhere. In the people in my office. In business associates. Clients. Early morning television hosts. The neighbors.
The shock has worn off and reality has set in: we’re in a new place now.
At first, some of us were in near-panic mode. Utter shock and disbelief at what had happened to our economy. And then that of other countries. Incredulous at the collapse of Bear Stearns and then of Lehman, the news of corporations running into problems and banks asking for money, we now roll monikers like TARP off our tongues as easily as we blab iPod or Blackberry (it hasn’t been that many years since these two came off the shelves y’know); and understand how derivatives and credit default swaps work almost as much as we understand the way furnaces heat our homes or oil lubricates our engines. Bernie Madoff? A household name. Ditto for John Thain, Ken Lewis and Jeffrey Immelt.
Incredible.
So this is our new normal. And parts of it are absolutely wonderful (OK. Not the Madoff part. But he’s in jail now.)
I believe it is wonderful that people are taking more responsibility for their personal finances. That they are questioning the way their money is being handled. That they are starting to understand what they own and why they own it.
I believe it is wonderful that the age of selfish indulgence is at least temporarily suspended. A fun story on NPR this morning charted the lessons a young gal is learning about coping through these new times. And she was lamenting that she has given up her daily five-word-long, brewed-in, several-dollars-at-a-pop Starbucks for a generic brand that she makes herself at home. Poor thing. I mean seriously. What have we come to? My own almost-eighty-year-old mother has never enjoyed a cup of Starbucks on her own nickel. And didn’t know what to do with the corrugated cardboard sleeve when I handed her one!
I believe it is wonderful that we are finally starting to look at price tags when we shop for clothing. That it’s suddenly cool again to wear “gently worn” suits or carry leather handbags purchased from your local consignment shop.
That we are questioning the need for gadgetry when we know darn well that simple tools and appliances usually do the trick. That expensive, flashy cars don’t really get us to where we need to go any more reliably than more vanilla models. That dinners in are usually more nutritious than dinners out.
I believe it is wonderful that families are helping family members who have temporarily been displaced out of jobs and of homes. Taking adult children and their kids in. Pitching in as families have always pitched in.
2009 is going to be about recalibrating. For whether you realize you are doing it or not, you are changing something about the way you do things. You are doing one of the above. Or you are re-thinking your line of work. Or your travel plans for spring break. Or your summer vacation. Or the colleges on your family’s wish list. Or your eating patterns and entertaining habits. Your driving routines. Dry cleaning needs. I have noticed in my many daily conversations with clients and with friends: we are coming to accept this new realty as just that. It’s our new reality. And so we better smile and make the best of it.
Recalibrate. In order to best serve you and your family’s needs. Or of your clients or customers. Your professional integrity or the probability of ensuring longevity in your line of work. Recalibrate to preserve your physical and mental health. To save yourself. Recalibrate to regain your spiritual bearings. To become centered.
Recalibration. That’s what’s ahead for us in 2009. For all of us. Whether we want it or realize it. Or not.
Recalibration holds enormous opportunities for blessings and for growth! I hope you start looking for them, reaching out to others who might help you find them, and discover something new about life. About yourself.
Blessings,
Carolina
The shock has worn off and reality has set in: we’re in a new place now.
At first, some of us were in near-panic mode. Utter shock and disbelief at what had happened to our economy. And then that of other countries. Incredulous at the collapse of Bear Stearns and then of Lehman, the news of corporations running into problems and banks asking for money, we now roll monikers like TARP off our tongues as easily as we blab iPod or Blackberry (it hasn’t been that many years since these two came off the shelves y’know); and understand how derivatives and credit default swaps work almost as much as we understand the way furnaces heat our homes or oil lubricates our engines. Bernie Madoff? A household name. Ditto for John Thain, Ken Lewis and Jeffrey Immelt.
Incredible.
So this is our new normal. And parts of it are absolutely wonderful (OK. Not the Madoff part. But he’s in jail now.)
I believe it is wonderful that people are taking more responsibility for their personal finances. That they are questioning the way their money is being handled. That they are starting to understand what they own and why they own it.
I believe it is wonderful that the age of selfish indulgence is at least temporarily suspended. A fun story on NPR this morning charted the lessons a young gal is learning about coping through these new times. And she was lamenting that she has given up her daily five-word-long, brewed-in, several-dollars-at-a-pop Starbucks for a generic brand that she makes herself at home. Poor thing. I mean seriously. What have we come to? My own almost-eighty-year-old mother has never enjoyed a cup of Starbucks on her own nickel. And didn’t know what to do with the corrugated cardboard sleeve when I handed her one!
I believe it is wonderful that we are finally starting to look at price tags when we shop for clothing. That it’s suddenly cool again to wear “gently worn” suits or carry leather handbags purchased from your local consignment shop.
That we are questioning the need for gadgetry when we know darn well that simple tools and appliances usually do the trick. That expensive, flashy cars don’t really get us to where we need to go any more reliably than more vanilla models. That dinners in are usually more nutritious than dinners out.
I believe it is wonderful that families are helping family members who have temporarily been displaced out of jobs and of homes. Taking adult children and their kids in. Pitching in as families have always pitched in.
2009 is going to be about recalibrating. For whether you realize you are doing it or not, you are changing something about the way you do things. You are doing one of the above. Or you are re-thinking your line of work. Or your travel plans for spring break. Or your summer vacation. Or the colleges on your family’s wish list. Or your eating patterns and entertaining habits. Your driving routines. Dry cleaning needs. I have noticed in my many daily conversations with clients and with friends: we are coming to accept this new realty as just that. It’s our new reality. And so we better smile and make the best of it.
Recalibrate. In order to best serve you and your family’s needs. Or of your clients or customers. Your professional integrity or the probability of ensuring longevity in your line of work. Recalibrate to preserve your physical and mental health. To save yourself. Recalibrate to regain your spiritual bearings. To become centered.
Recalibration. That’s what’s ahead for us in 2009. For all of us. Whether we want it or realize it. Or not.
Recalibration holds enormous opportunities for blessings and for growth! I hope you start looking for them, reaching out to others who might help you find them, and discover something new about life. About yourself.
Blessings,
Carolina
Monday, March 2, 2009
Sneaux Day!
OK. It’s corny. Just keeping up the French/Gleaux thing……
We’re covered in at least 8 inches of fresh powder. And it’s still coming down. Glorious! As I sit at my desk in my third floor office, on top of a ridge in this tiny New England town of ours, I stare out my windows, which frame brown tree limbs, starkly rising, and sometimes swaying, in this winter wonderland of white. The wind howls; I hear it through the glass. As it blows, ice-laden snow swirls across the window panes, giving sound to the otherwise silent, beautiful scene.
Turning my thermostat up just one more degree, I gaze out, mind spinning with thoughts of everything I want to accomplish on this snow day.
Snow days are like free days. Pure gifts. Expanded time. With no ability to get to my office nearly a one-hour drive away from home—or not until my plow guy comes to rescue me anyway—I automatically saved two full hours which would have been spent just driving! My pool is closed as well; riding my stationary bike in my basement “gym” will save me another hour and a half. And aaah! The rare treat of the no make-up-pantyhose-high-heels-getting-dolled-up ritual just landed me another free thirty minutes. Snow day math!
Trying not to hyperventilate with this newly-found time on my hands, with full mug of coffee at fingertips, I plan to:
• Put in my daily quiet time. Read. Reflect. Pray.
• Catch up on all personal emails.
• Write this newsletter.
• Log into my work system and do everything I possibly can while working remote. Answer all emails. Keep tabs on the market. Make outgoing phone calls. Turn on cable business TV programs. I will try my darndest to work during market hours only. (Snow days are gifts, after all. Other work calls too!)
• Eat breakfast with my hubby. What a rare treat! I’m usually out the door before the sun comes up.
• Catch up on laundry during short work breaks. (I can almost never get completely caught up during normal work weeks. Can you?)
• Eat lunch with the kids. Whoa. Another rarity. (I think I’ll make hot chocolate. Williams Sonoma has the best mix ever. Have you tried their handmade marshmallows? Yummo.)
• Put a chicken in the oven and let it slow-roast all day. (Dinner on the table on a work night? Are you kidding?)
• Finish a book proposal. (Even with that industry in depression, it doesn’t hurt to keep trying!)
• Try to organize my thoughts and make lists for all the stuff I’m behind in. (Where do I start. I feel myself hyperventilating a bit: kids school papers, board responsibilities, thank you notes, organizing old magazines, de-cluttering the kitchen. Go into attack mode once the markets close.)
• Work on photo albums after dinner. (Nick will graduate in May and when asked if he’d rather I make him a hand-stitched needlepoint belt or present him with a photo book of his life, he said he wanted the book of his life. Wild! So I need to get crackin’. Lesson I learned: don’t under-estimate those precious photos! Put them in good order and try not to get hopelessly behind. Your kids treasure them more than you might realize.)
• Assemble four sunshine baskets. (Every month, I try to get four baskets delivered to people in need of a bit of cheer. I keep my eyes and ears open for someone who has just had surgery, lost a job, is faced with a major illness or accident. It never fails; there are always at least four people a month. I save the wooden cartons that tangerines are packed in and use them for the base. Then I stuff them with paper filler and load them up with as many treats as fit in. Small treats. Could be French soaps, chocolate bars, a pack of stationery, tiny gift book. Simple things which might bring a bit of cheer to someone’s day. Try it. If everyone who reads this newsletter makes four baskets a month, we could be a few thousand points of light to people who need that energy!)
That’s it. That’s my snow day planned out. Mental free-for-all. If you live on the east coast, chances are, you’re snowed-in too. Don’t squander this time! Catch up on sleep and then, fly! And if you aren’t living under a snow drift right now, well, carry on, do your thing and make a difference in one way or another today. At least make a sunshine basket. Or two.
Blessings on your day!
Carolina
We’re covered in at least 8 inches of fresh powder. And it’s still coming down. Glorious! As I sit at my desk in my third floor office, on top of a ridge in this tiny New England town of ours, I stare out my windows, which frame brown tree limbs, starkly rising, and sometimes swaying, in this winter wonderland of white. The wind howls; I hear it through the glass. As it blows, ice-laden snow swirls across the window panes, giving sound to the otherwise silent, beautiful scene.
Turning my thermostat up just one more degree, I gaze out, mind spinning with thoughts of everything I want to accomplish on this snow day.
Snow days are like free days. Pure gifts. Expanded time. With no ability to get to my office nearly a one-hour drive away from home—or not until my plow guy comes to rescue me anyway—I automatically saved two full hours which would have been spent just driving! My pool is closed as well; riding my stationary bike in my basement “gym” will save me another hour and a half. And aaah! The rare treat of the no make-up-pantyhose-high-heels-getting-dolled-up ritual just landed me another free thirty minutes. Snow day math!
Trying not to hyperventilate with this newly-found time on my hands, with full mug of coffee at fingertips, I plan to:
• Put in my daily quiet time. Read. Reflect. Pray.
• Catch up on all personal emails.
• Write this newsletter.
• Log into my work system and do everything I possibly can while working remote. Answer all emails. Keep tabs on the market. Make outgoing phone calls. Turn on cable business TV programs. I will try my darndest to work during market hours only. (Snow days are gifts, after all. Other work calls too!)
• Eat breakfast with my hubby. What a rare treat! I’m usually out the door before the sun comes up.
• Catch up on laundry during short work breaks. (I can almost never get completely caught up during normal work weeks. Can you?)
• Eat lunch with the kids. Whoa. Another rarity. (I think I’ll make hot chocolate. Williams Sonoma has the best mix ever. Have you tried their handmade marshmallows? Yummo.)
• Put a chicken in the oven and let it slow-roast all day. (Dinner on the table on a work night? Are you kidding?)
• Finish a book proposal. (Even with that industry in depression, it doesn’t hurt to keep trying!)
• Try to organize my thoughts and make lists for all the stuff I’m behind in. (Where do I start. I feel myself hyperventilating a bit: kids school papers, board responsibilities, thank you notes, organizing old magazines, de-cluttering the kitchen. Go into attack mode once the markets close.)
• Work on photo albums after dinner. (Nick will graduate in May and when asked if he’d rather I make him a hand-stitched needlepoint belt or present him with a photo book of his life, he said he wanted the book of his life. Wild! So I need to get crackin’. Lesson I learned: don’t under-estimate those precious photos! Put them in good order and try not to get hopelessly behind. Your kids treasure them more than you might realize.)
• Assemble four sunshine baskets. (Every month, I try to get four baskets delivered to people in need of a bit of cheer. I keep my eyes and ears open for someone who has just had surgery, lost a job, is faced with a major illness or accident. It never fails; there are always at least four people a month. I save the wooden cartons that tangerines are packed in and use them for the base. Then I stuff them with paper filler and load them up with as many treats as fit in. Small treats. Could be French soaps, chocolate bars, a pack of stationery, tiny gift book. Simple things which might bring a bit of cheer to someone’s day. Try it. If everyone who reads this newsletter makes four baskets a month, we could be a few thousand points of light to people who need that energy!)
That’s it. That’s my snow day planned out. Mental free-for-all. If you live on the east coast, chances are, you’re snowed-in too. Don’t squander this time! Catch up on sleep and then, fly! And if you aren’t living under a snow drift right now, well, carry on, do your thing and make a difference in one way or another today. At least make a sunshine basket. Or two.
Blessings on your day!
Carolina
Sunday, February 22, 2009
She's Got Moxie
When our daughter was a freshman in high school, we encouraged her to audition for a role in her high school play. She had always expressed—since she was a toddler—interest in drama, be it in commercials, TV…or on our kitchen floor with some antics she had invented on her own.
So her lack of interest in auditioning for her school play, based on the fact that “only seniors” are allowed to be the lead, and “if I can’t be the lead, I don’t want to be in it” was met with a gentle rebuke on my part of just how presumptuous (arrogant?) that attitude was.
“You need to work yourself up to the lead, hon.You can’t just expect to be given the lead role until you’ve paid your dues for the three years leading up to senior year” was my motherly advice.
Undaunted, she stood her ground and, to my amazement, would truly have rather sat in the audience and watched the play than been in it with a minor role.
Our only daughter has always had a singular focus on what she wants. Like a bull in a china closet, she sets her eye on a goal and then just busts through until she gets it.
A couple of years ago, she set her sights on the Jonas Brothers. Literally and without reservation. They became a young teen girl’s obsession, one which we thought would quickly pass. But oh no. Every song was memorized. Every performance recorded. Every tune downloaded, poster hung, t-shirt bought.
Her dream had been, from the moment she laid eyes on them, to one day meet them. Either shake their hands or get their autographs or sit close enough at a concert to get within eye range.
So when she found out last month that MTV was putting on a contest for the Jonas Brother’s #1 fans in the Tri-State area, she knew she had to enter. She insisted that she was, indeed, their #1 fan. And this might be, after all, her best shot of achieving her life dream.
The contest called for her to gather her BFF’s and shoot a short video that captured how they were their #1 fans and why they should win the contest. A whirlwind of activities—amidst finals, travel volleyball, babysitting and violin lessons (homework?)—resulted in them submitting their video on time and earning a place in the MTV studios last weekend. She and her two also-Jonas-Brothers-#1-fans-best friends threw themselves into the project with abandon. Knocked themselves out. Bought adorable outfits accented with hot pink tights and lime green Converse hightops for the big day when they would hang out at the studios hoping to enter the finals.
Contest rules prevent me from going any further. But if you’d like to see how the story ends, please look for details at the end of this newsletter.
Bottom line: a singular focus requires vision unlike anything anyone else will hold for you. It requires gritting your teeth when the going gets tough, and dusting the dirt off your jeans when you fall on your butt. It requires holding your head high when everyone else tells you you’re nuts. And just sticking through it when the odds are stacked completely against you.
It usually results in several detours, U-turns and yield curves along the way, throwing you off path when you least expect it. It also typically comes with a “death of vision” before the story is fully told. Just when you think you are close to finishing the deal, a major door gets slammed in your face.
Our daughter’s case involved all of this. But it’s also a story of not quitting before the miracle.
Perhaps you’re there right now. Working at something that looks hopeless. That’s against all odds. You’re down and out. Broke and broken. Ready to throw in the towel.
I’d invite you to give it just a little bit more time. Get through this week. Rent Bottle Shock on cable; it’s a story of grit and grind and falling off the horse and persevering when the odds are completely stacked against you.
Or tune in to MTV on Monday night, February 23 at 6:00 PM to see how my daughter’s dream played out.
Until next week, sending all my very best,
Carolina
So her lack of interest in auditioning for her school play, based on the fact that “only seniors” are allowed to be the lead, and “if I can’t be the lead, I don’t want to be in it” was met with a gentle rebuke on my part of just how presumptuous (arrogant?) that attitude was.
“You need to work yourself up to the lead, hon.You can’t just expect to be given the lead role until you’ve paid your dues for the three years leading up to senior year” was my motherly advice.
Undaunted, she stood her ground and, to my amazement, would truly have rather sat in the audience and watched the play than been in it with a minor role.
Our only daughter has always had a singular focus on what she wants. Like a bull in a china closet, she sets her eye on a goal and then just busts through until she gets it.
A couple of years ago, she set her sights on the Jonas Brothers. Literally and without reservation. They became a young teen girl’s obsession, one which we thought would quickly pass. But oh no. Every song was memorized. Every performance recorded. Every tune downloaded, poster hung, t-shirt bought.
Her dream had been, from the moment she laid eyes on them, to one day meet them. Either shake their hands or get their autographs or sit close enough at a concert to get within eye range.
So when she found out last month that MTV was putting on a contest for the Jonas Brother’s #1 fans in the Tri-State area, she knew she had to enter. She insisted that she was, indeed, their #1 fan. And this might be, after all, her best shot of achieving her life dream.
The contest called for her to gather her BFF’s and shoot a short video that captured how they were their #1 fans and why they should win the contest. A whirlwind of activities—amidst finals, travel volleyball, babysitting and violin lessons (homework?)—resulted in them submitting their video on time and earning a place in the MTV studios last weekend. She and her two also-Jonas-Brothers-#1-fans-best friends threw themselves into the project with abandon. Knocked themselves out. Bought adorable outfits accented with hot pink tights and lime green Converse hightops for the big day when they would hang out at the studios hoping to enter the finals.
Contest rules prevent me from going any further. But if you’d like to see how the story ends, please look for details at the end of this newsletter.
Bottom line: a singular focus requires vision unlike anything anyone else will hold for you. It requires gritting your teeth when the going gets tough, and dusting the dirt off your jeans when you fall on your butt. It requires holding your head high when everyone else tells you you’re nuts. And just sticking through it when the odds are stacked completely against you.
It usually results in several detours, U-turns and yield curves along the way, throwing you off path when you least expect it. It also typically comes with a “death of vision” before the story is fully told. Just when you think you are close to finishing the deal, a major door gets slammed in your face.
Our daughter’s case involved all of this. But it’s also a story of not quitting before the miracle.
Perhaps you’re there right now. Working at something that looks hopeless. That’s against all odds. You’re down and out. Broke and broken. Ready to throw in the towel.
I’d invite you to give it just a little bit more time. Get through this week. Rent Bottle Shock on cable; it’s a story of grit and grind and falling off the horse and persevering when the odds are completely stacked against you.
Or tune in to MTV on Monday night, February 23 at 6:00 PM to see how my daughter’s dream played out.
Until next week, sending all my very best,
Carolina
Sunday, February 1, 2009
What Women Really Want: Beyond Budgets and Botox
Several months ago, one of the members of my PWAC group (Professional Women’s Advisory Council)—which will be celebrating its one-year anniversary this month!—told me that she’d been giving a lot of thought to the comments of her female patients. A plastic surgeon, she was more intimately involved with them than most docs. And she found herself talking with them a lot, as one might expect a female doc to do, and hearing five resounding themes:
• women want to be beautiful and really like their faces, skin and bodies
• women want to become financially independent
• women want a female legal advocate
• women want to be deemed physically sensuous and enjoy beauty in their personal spaces
• women want to strive towards spiritual maturity and find meaning and purpose in life
She noodled on these conversations for months, trying to figure out how she might help her patients move more effectively towards these five goals while at the same time, meet the challenges of her own practice and its inherent limitations, as she believed herself to be professionally qualified in just one of these areas.
We met for coffee and she shared with me her concerns as well as a vision of how fellow women professionals might help women find what they really wanted. And would I have an interest in playing a role.
My immediate “of course!” has taken us, along with three others, to organize an event this week for women throughout Fairfield County who are seeking answers to some—if not all—of these issues. From consults with my plastic surgeon doctor friend to free facials to learning more about budgets and Botox: we will, together, aim to move more women forward.
Even as one of the five chosen to be part of this exciting evening, I find myself searching for answers as well. For trying to make more sense out of the nonsense going on all around us. Of reaching for books off my library shelf for a second read. Keeping the nightlight on past bedtime to read just one more chapter of a novella on spirituality. Trying to regain a calming, affirming sense of peace in this otherwise turbulent time. Confirming purpose. For faith is the one constant in life. Let’s face it: our bodies will age and our eyelids will droop; our finances will flux; we probably won’t confront legal issues on most days; and we will feel more sensuous some days and much less on others. But faith endures. Seeking spiritual maturity, walking further down the journey is something which, when strived for, only grows deeper with the passing years.
These other issues are important. Vitally so. And I am a firm believer that, as women, we need to get a grip in each one of these other areas. From my perch, too, I hear these same themes day in and day out. And I think that especially now, we yearn for extra compasses to mark our paths. For more clearly defined data points from which to draw conclusions and chart new paths.
We’re expecting almost two hundred women at our event. If you are just now reading this for the first time and would like to come, please, just shoot me an email. We’d love to fix you a wholesome goddess potion and introduce you to some women who may change your life! Information empowers people. And we want to be there as a way to give back to the community that information which has been hard-earned by each one of us over the course of our professional careers.
What women really want is information to make empowered decisions. To lead well-intentioned lives. To create lives worth living.
I hope you’ll join me!
All my best,
Carolina
• women want to be beautiful and really like their faces, skin and bodies
• women want to become financially independent
• women want a female legal advocate
• women want to be deemed physically sensuous and enjoy beauty in their personal spaces
• women want to strive towards spiritual maturity and find meaning and purpose in life
She noodled on these conversations for months, trying to figure out how she might help her patients move more effectively towards these five goals while at the same time, meet the challenges of her own practice and its inherent limitations, as she believed herself to be professionally qualified in just one of these areas.
We met for coffee and she shared with me her concerns as well as a vision of how fellow women professionals might help women find what they really wanted. And would I have an interest in playing a role.
My immediate “of course!” has taken us, along with three others, to organize an event this week for women throughout Fairfield County who are seeking answers to some—if not all—of these issues. From consults with my plastic surgeon doctor friend to free facials to learning more about budgets and Botox: we will, together, aim to move more women forward.
Even as one of the five chosen to be part of this exciting evening, I find myself searching for answers as well. For trying to make more sense out of the nonsense going on all around us. Of reaching for books off my library shelf for a second read. Keeping the nightlight on past bedtime to read just one more chapter of a novella on spirituality. Trying to regain a calming, affirming sense of peace in this otherwise turbulent time. Confirming purpose. For faith is the one constant in life. Let’s face it: our bodies will age and our eyelids will droop; our finances will flux; we probably won’t confront legal issues on most days; and we will feel more sensuous some days and much less on others. But faith endures. Seeking spiritual maturity, walking further down the journey is something which, when strived for, only grows deeper with the passing years.
These other issues are important. Vitally so. And I am a firm believer that, as women, we need to get a grip in each one of these other areas. From my perch, too, I hear these same themes day in and day out. And I think that especially now, we yearn for extra compasses to mark our paths. For more clearly defined data points from which to draw conclusions and chart new paths.
We’re expecting almost two hundred women at our event. If you are just now reading this for the first time and would like to come, please, just shoot me an email. We’d love to fix you a wholesome goddess potion and introduce you to some women who may change your life! Information empowers people. And we want to be there as a way to give back to the community that information which has been hard-earned by each one of us over the course of our professional careers.
What women really want is information to make empowered decisions. To lead well-intentioned lives. To create lives worth living.
I hope you’ll join me!
All my best,
Carolina
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
